


In a place I can't reach.

by rareformofwolfsbane



Series: 'Do not forget a small piece.' [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 18:46:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13817223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rareformofwolfsbane/pseuds/rareformofwolfsbane
Summary: Unfortunately, nearly all of the entries were ineligible, paragraphs stripped away, most pages torn except for a few final notes.'Ir abelas (I'm sorry.)' -There is a crude drawing of a three figure family; a man, an elf, a child.





	In a place I can't reach.

**Author's Note:**

> It really sucks there isn't the option of City Elf like in Origins, so I decided to make my character both. ish.  
> I also love the little excerpts of the codex in each loading screen in the game! I aim to have similar references between each. It provides a smidge of backstory without the rambling paragraphs, lolol. Either way, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

-My son is not all human, no. It's the subtle nuances that define him an elf. The slight too large eyes, the gentle point of his ears, the elegance of which a growing human boy should not have! **There's a stain, whether it is tears or alcohol is undefinable.** I suppose I am at fault, falling in love with an elf, but the courts mock me! Saying my nobility is void, that I'm no better than those that live in the slums, an alienage. Me! I'll show th- **The rest of the passage is torn away.**

-e elf is showing signs of magic. Another dark mark against my name. He's only three years old and set fire to the drapes. At least he managed to douse them himself before any guards stormed the Villa. Maria's (I refuse to use her Elven name) worried we'll send him to the circle - I'm tempted to send him off as he is, maybe the courts will back off. No, I need a legacy, regardless how stained my name is. **The word 'our' is scribbled out, almost frantically.**

-My son, Maker forgive me, I should not have sent you away! You are the key to restoring our name! I've received reports on your progress in the Circle from First Enchanter Virginia. You've also become quite the master at The Game, I've heard. It's the perfect chance t-

**A final, blood-smeared entry, written in a shaky scrawl:** What a fool I've been. All this time, worrying about my -our- reputation when I should have spent that wasted time with my family. Your mothers already passed on; the darkspawn.. **Splotches stain the ripped page, tears.** I hope the Maker allows me to see her one last time.

Lavellan.

Ar lath ma. ( _I love you_.)

Ir abelas. ( _I am sorry._ )

**There is a crude drawing of a three figure family; a man, an elf, a child.**

**-** _From pages torn from a battered journal on the outskirts of Val Royeaux._

* * *

 

Lavellan closed his eyes, fingering the edge of the torn journal with a sad sort of curiosity. For many years he tried to imagine what kind of man his father was (there was a vague recollection from before, before the Circle, before the Clan, but it was fickle at best; told one thing from your mother, and another from your Clan, for his mind to draw his own conclusions,) and he held the mans frustrations, ideas and memories in the palm of his hands.

He thought nothing of the book when he first picked it up on the way back from Val Royeaux, (their failed attempt at securing an audience then an alliance,) that he just gave a cursory glance and tucked it away with the rest of his growing collection of notes and books and parchments that seemed important, and moved onto the next task that needed his attention.

Now, back in Haven, away from the worshipping eyes and whispers, down the path and across the frozen lake, Lavellan sat with his back against the Logging Stand, the various notes strewn around him, weighted down with magic lest they blow away with the wind. He had started to flick through nondescript battered journal before he came across the unmistakable sketch of his mother. Fingers stroking over her delicate features, smile so much like his own, that he went back to the start to read carefully. Unfortunately, nearly all of the entries were ineligible, paragraphs stripped away, most pages torn except for a few final notes.

Lavellan released a breath, watching the cold air coil up out into nothing and set the book aside. It explained everything and nothing about his father, and the devastating closure of knowing what became of his parents. He sent out prayers to the Creators and the Maker, fingers stroking along the elven engravings in the pole of his staff to trace over Falon'Din's rune.

With a sigh, Lavellan packed the notes away, blowing warm air into his palms when he was finished and started back towards the tents of the soldiers. He needed to ask Cullen if he had any thoughts as to why the Templar's would abandon their sworn oath to the protect the chantry and the citizens of Thedas; he just didn't understand humans and their need for - a grumbling bellow faltered his steps and Lavellan turned to look at the three druffalo trudging along in the snow, two squaring off, theirs breaths clouding the air. They charged, knocking heads and both trying to gain the upper hand.

Lavellan grinned. It was like watching two children wrestle in the dirt. Two very large, _his eyes widened_ , now angry animals that were pushing in his direction.

'Whoops!' He danced out of the way, laugh catching on the wind as the druffalo barrelled past him. He pulled his staff around, the large crystal alight with crackling energy and watched, waiting to see if they would redirect their attention to him. He backed away as their guard went up, large hooves stamping deep into the snow as they bellowed their challenge again. Lavellan's fingers twitched from where they were wrapped around the hilt of his staff, a sizzling current pulsing along the shaft as his body started to thrum with adrenaline..

The druffalo backed off with a final huff that stirred the loose snow beneath them. Lavellan blinked, waiting. The larger animal gave one final bellow and turned around, pausing to sniff at a lone elfroot before trudging along to join the other druffalo investigating a boulder.

Lavellan huffed a laugh, 'Well then,' as the other druffalo followed at a slower pace. With a shrug, he put his weapon away, almost disappointed they didn't round on him for a fight and spun on his heel - face first into a warm broad chest and stumbled backwards, one hand going to his staff, the other to his chest.

'Garas quenathra!?' ( _Why are you here!?_ )

Cullen steadied him and pulled his hands back to rub at his neck, expression embarrassed.

'I apologise Herald, I thought you heard my approach.'

Lavellan focused on getting his hammering heart under control, his own embarrassment on being caught so off guard making his words sharper than intended.

'Evidently not!'

Cullen winced and Lavellan let out a breath, softening his features in apology and Cullen straightened, the matter forgotten.

'I thought we could discuss Val Royeaux and the matter of the Templar's before we head into the War Room?'

Lavellan nodded, falling into step with his Commander as they set foot back up along the path, towards the tents.

'Might I ask.. What were you doing out here? You were gone for a while.'

With a sigh, Lavellan palmed the pouch at his hip that held all the notes he's found along the way. He could feel the questioning silence linger in the air, knowing he was taking too long to answer. Not because he didn't want to, it's not a secret; just that he didn't know what to think of everything that he had read - as little as it were. It was a lot and not enough to take in. Cullen was polite enough not to push, but Lavellan was hoping he would.

'I.. find notes and books, sometime large tomes and ruined journals, on our travels.' Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen angled his body to listen carefully. He's one of those people, that you could be talking about anything from between how the grass grows, to how to disarm an enemy riding a horse; all his attention would hang off the words people speak. Lavellan allowed an absent smile to pull at his lips.

'One such journal belonged to my father. I found it outside Val Royeaux.' He shrugged. 'I didn't know him well, as I was sent to the Circle at a very young age, then whisked away by my mother to the Clan by the time I reached maturity.' He could _physically_ feel the wheel's turning in Cullen's head as that shouldn't have been possible- he opened his mouth. '-I know what you're thinking. Technically, I'm half human as well, and as such, part of a noble line- which allowed me 'vacation' time with my family. My mother had connections so she was able to access the Phylactery chambers and destroyed mine - then, on my sixteenth summer, I was with the Clan.'

Lavellan paused to kneel down and gather some elfroot into his pouch.

'Anyway, most of the pages were ruined, but what I could take from it all.. -my father was an impressionable man, caring too much what others thought. It wasn't till he was dying did he stop.'

Funny, how _death_ makes you give up prejudiced notions.

Lavellan bit his lip, brows furrowed as he lifted his hand to watch the green magic sweep across his palm to curl around his fingers. The foreign energy began to crackle that he had to shake his wrist to rid the sensation.

He wondered, once this was over, would they go back to fearing and shunning him?

There was a quiet cough and the slight chink of Cullen's armour as he rested his arm on the hilt of his sword, and Lavellan startled, unaware he had gone quiet for so long.

'Does it pain you?'

Lavellan hummed, tilting his head in greeting towards the new recruits who stopped sparring to salute Herald and Commander both.

'Not anymore.'

Not anymore in so much that they were battling enough rifts that the foreign magic didn't have time to build up and pollute his own magical reserves.

They stopped at Cullen's post, surveying the camp of recruits and relief efforts. Haven was shaping up to be the pillar of support Thedas needed. Speaking of.. Lavellan tilted his head in Cullen's direction.

'So. Templar's. What do we do?'

* * *

 


End file.
